


Unintended Consequences

by XenaAthena



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-03-22 18:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13769748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XenaAthena/pseuds/XenaAthena
Summary: Ivar received a prophecy from his father before he died, that one day the world will know and fear him, Ivar the Boneless. But, the world only sees him as a cripple and nothing more. Somehow, Ivar gains the favor of The Gods and perhaps they have sent someone who will aid him in fulfilling that prophecy. Or, perhaps that someone has other plans in mind…





	1. Painfully

“I will be here but not to settle down and plow!” The youngest prince’s voice brought an abrupt halt to the crowd’s cheers and applause. His bound legs remain still as he shifts in his chair to face them. “Who wants to be a farmer now? Hmm? We have a great army and we should use it. There are many other places that I want to attack and raid. And those of you who feel like I do should come with me!” some of the crowd murmur and nod in agreement with him. “And those of you who don’t, ask yourself, “Who can stand in our way now?”

The crowd irrupts into cheers, some tossing their drinks in the air, others clapping and raising their arms into the air victoriously. Satisfied by their response, the prince shifts in his seat and turns to his older brother, Ubbe, when he spoke. “You cannot lead the army, Ivar. Hmm?”

“I don’t want to, Ubbe. All I’m saying is that, for those who are still brave enough to raid and find adventure, then I will lead them. You can put on an apron and settle down if you want to,” he says, briefly patting Ubbe’s leg.

“It will take a great man, Ivar,” says Hvitserk, cutting a piece of meat off a leg of meat he holds in his hand. He places the meat in his mouth while nodding. “To stake a claim here. Defend it.”

Ivar smiles through gritted teeth, though it’s rather convincing in appearance, appearing more cheerful then it truly is. “Ah… That does not sound like yourself, dear brother. The Hvitserk I know, he loves to raid. He’s a real Viking.” He leans forward and stares down his brother. “What you just said, that is not the Viking way. So,” he turns to the crowd once more, resting his hands on the arms of the chair he sat on he raises his upper body up. “Who among you will follow me? Who will follow me into battle? For the love of fame and for the love of Odin, our All-Father?”

“Yeah!” the crowd cheers and Ivar shouts with them before sitting down with a smug smile. Grabbing a pitcher of ale, he pours himself a drink.

“Don’t do this Ivar,” Sigurd says, leaning over the table as he stares at his little brother who forwent drinking his ale. “We are all the sons of Ragnar. We have to stick together.”

Their three older brothers all sigh to themselves, already annoyed with the impending bickering that is about to take place. No matter what, their younger brothers are always at odds with one another.

“Frankly, dear Sigurd, I don’t care what you say,” replies Ivar. “The truth is, I wouldn’t even piss down your throat even if your lungs were on fire,” he pours his ale on the ground beside him for emphasis and the crowd laughs.

Ubbe stabs his knife into the wooden table and turns to Ivar in annoyance. Hvitserk grabs another leg of meat while Bjorn stares at the table, finding it far more entertaining than his brothers’ bickering.

Sigurd smirks to himself as he turns his body towards the crowd and then looks at Ivar out of his peripheral vision. “Well, maybe that’s because” he turns his head to look directly at his little brother. “You’re not really a man. Are you boneless?” he taunts in reference to Ivar’s impotence.

Ivar’s face fell at the taunt and his gaze shifts to the table. His impotence was to be kept a secret, the slave who bared witness to it was only kept alive because of her oath of secrecy. His brother’s taunt stung but the anger from the taunt begins to fester inside him like a splitter embedded deep within him unable to be removed.

“So,” says Bjorn as he looks out at the gathered crowd. “Who is going to stay and farm?”

“I would like to stay.” King Harald Fairhair stands up with a cup of ale in his hand. “But I have other plans,” he raises his cup and Bjorn nods. “Skol!”

“Skol!” replies the crowd.

“As for me…” Halfdan the Black, King Fairhair’s brother, stands up with his hands on the table in front of him. “I want to go with Bjorn.” He rises to his full height. His brother stares at him in minor shock though none but Halfdan can tell. “I want to see the Mediterranean.”

Bjorn leaps over the table that he and his brothers sit at and descends the stairs, making his way to Halfdan the Black whom he hugs briefly. “Then it seems, the only thing that really kept the sons of Ragnar together was the death of their father.”

“Poor Bjorn,” says Ivar, glaring at his eldest brother. “It is you who doesn’t want to keep the army together. It is you who wants to go away to sunny places. Everyone else can follow me.”

Sigurd slams his hand on the table as he stands up. “I do not want to follow you, Ivar. You are crazy. You have the mind of a child,” he gestures to his own head with his hand before lowering it to his side.

“And all you do is play music, Sigurd!” Ivar seethes.

“I’m just as much a son of Ragnar as you are,” Sigurd sighs, picking up a cup of ale and taking a sip.

“I’m not so sure. As far as I remember, Ragnar didn’t play the oud. And he certainly didn’t offer his arse to other men!”

The crowd laughs at the bickering princes but Ivar and Sigurd’s brothers did not. Ubbe watches Ivar warily, knowing how volatile he can become when angered. However, Sigurd just doesn’t know when to stop pushing his younger brother.

“You make me laugh. Just like you do when you crawl around like a baby,” taunts Sigurd.

Ivar slams his hand on the table with a murderous glare. “SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”

“Enough!” Bjorn wearily shouts, waving his hand dismissively in the air.

Once more Ivar slams his hand on the table and shot a glare to Bjorn. “This has nothing to do with you!”

“What’s the matter Ivar?” Sigurd teases, leaning over the table as he cocks his head to the side. “You can’t take it?”

“Ivar,” Ubbe says in a calm voice, hoping to soothe his raging little brother. “Do not listen to him.”

“No, I guess it must be hard for you now that your mommy’s dead. Knowing she’s the only one who ever really loved you,” Sigurd lifts his cup to his mouth, pleased with himself for upsetting his little brother.

Ivar’s ears begin to ring as he shook with anger, somewhere within the sound of his ringing ears he can hear Ubbe call his name. His whole body tenses, blinded by anger he grabs his hatchet from the table and hears his name again but it’s now distorted and distant. With a yell, he raises his arm into the air, preparing to throw the hatchet at Sigurd. A pressure on his hand prevents him from throwing it. He whips his head around only to freeze in place upon seeing what or rather who grabbed his hand.

A young woman with hair the color of starlight that cascades down past her shoulders to the middle of her torso stands beside Ivar. Her hand wrapped firmly around his hand that holds the hatchet. Ivar stares at her in disbelief, for her skin is unblemished and clean from any dirt. Her brown eyes are not only mesmerizing but also unnerving to gaze into as within the brown is a glittering circular chain of blue, green and gold that draws one into her piercing gaze. Her dress hangs loosely on her body, the material is something no one has ever seen before, as its white and nearly see-through, allowing for the outline of her alluring figure to be seen but nothing else. She is so beautiful that it is almost painful to behold her, a painfully beautiful young woman.

She holds Ivar’s gaze and guides his hand down, receiving no resistance from him as he is completely and utterly mesmerized by her. The hatchet makes a soft thunk upon making contact with the wooden table. His death grip on it remains and she raises a brow while looking down at his hand. He follows her gaze to his hand and reluctantly let’s go of the hatchet. She removes her hand from his, her fingertips sweeping over his, causing him to jolt at the foreign tingling sensation her fingers leave in their wake.

Her eyes drift over Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd before she looks to the crowd, and just like Ivar they are all are mesmerized by her. Soundlessly, she descends the stairs revealing her bare feet that remain clean even as she walks on the dirt. Her feet leave no footprints on the earth as she walks and she seems to glow in contrast to the dirty surroundings. She pays no mind to anyone as she walked through the crowd, despite their whispers and stares. Almost as if no one other than herself exists. Ceasing walking in the heart of the gathered crowd, she glances over her shoulder at Ivar then vanishes into thin air. Gasps of disbelief left everyone’s mouths and those who stood near where she stood just mere seconds ago, jump back in shock.

Ivar’s fingertips begin to sting painfully as if they had been burnt by fire and ice, and he hurriedly removes his brace. He struggles with the buckles of the straps as his fingers have become numb to nearly all sensation before sliding his hand out. His brows knit together while his eyes widen in shock as he stares at his hand. Protruding beneath his skin is the outline of a thorn riddled vine that is coiling like a snake around his hand and up towards his arm. Clutching the fabric of his sleeve in his hand, he forcibly tugs causing it rip and rolls it up in order to watch the vine coil around his forearm. He clenches and unclenches his hand, watching the vine shift beneath his skin.

Ubbe and Hvitserk give a start and rise out of their chairs. Their bodies reflexively leaning away from their little brother. Ivar’s body visibly shakes as sweat begins to drip down his forehead and the vine begins to coil around his neck while smaller vines burst out from it. The thorns are causing his skin to pucker and turn red in irritation. Ivar glances up at his brothers with a twisted smirk, which bestows dread within them before pouring himself a cup of ale. Leaning back in his chair, he sips his ale and rolls his head to the side in order to showcase the vine that is now coiling down his upper torso.

Ivar’s arms, neck, and torso are coiled in the outline of vines and yet, he remains utterly unfazed by them. Even as they leisurely begin to constrict him. The pain he feels is excruciating but he is Viking and will not let it be known that he is in any pain. Especially not in front of Sigurd. Glancing at the said Brother, Ivar couldn’t help but chuckle darkly upon seeing how unnerved he is. His chuckling only further unsettling him.

Hundreds of thorns constrict his lungs and Ivar can no longer breathe. Placing his cup on the table, he nonchalantly rolls his shoulders back, masking his distress, and shifts in his seat. Clenching both hands into fists with such force that he believes the thorns will pierce through his skin and draw blood. He wonders if this is how the Gods have chosen how he will die. His vision begins to blur, ears echoing with a piercing ring before fading into silence. People speak, but he sees only their blurred mouths move.

The vines tighten their hold, constricting any and all movement and Ivar is on the verge of losing consciousness. But, on the brink of darkness, the vines vanish from his entire body. He casually takes multiple deep breaths, filling his lungs with the air they were deprived of. Drenched in sweat and skin blood flushed, his gaze shifts to his brothers at the table before looking out at the crowd. A sense of pride swelled within him upon seeing the astonished expressions everyone has as they stare at him.

The celebration gradually resumes but a feeling of being watched tugs at everyone’s spine. Some are undisturbed by the feeling but those who are, turn in various directions, searching for the watchful eyes that they felt but never found. The unexpected appearance and unexplainable disappearance of the young woman has everyone questioning their sanity. Surely, they all hadn’t imagined her, but just one glimpse at Ivar, whose skin is still blood flushed confirms that she was indeed real.

Eventually, Ivar grows tired of the celebration as all the ale that had been consumed is beginning to affect those who drank heavily. Normally, he wouldn’t care about the rowdiness and slurring of words but he did today for some unknown reason. It didn’t help matters that each of his brothers have random shield maidens sitting in their laps, their lips and hands busy exploring those maidens’ bodies. Running a hand down his face, Ivar pushes against the table with his shoulder and shuffles out of his chair. His body colliding with the wooden platform with a thud that goes unnoticed by all.

Ivar rolls his jaw as he grips the straps of his bound legs, lifting the useless limbs, he drapes them over the edge of the platform. Leaning his upper body forward, he outstretches his arms and braces himself for the impact as he comes towards the ground. His shoulders pop and his wrists burn as they take the brunt of his fall to the ground. His fingers dig into the earth, the damp dirt clumping over them in the process and he lifts one at a time to shake it off. With a deep breath, he crawls away from the celebration, scowling at various people who nearly trample him in their drunken haze.

Thralls scurry out of his way as he crawls towards his tent and Ivar pays them no mind. He pauses momentarily when he feels someone watching him and turns his head in all directions for the watchful gaze but no one is looking at him. He swears that there is someone watching him, he can feel them but there is no one. Not even his brothers look at him as they each take those maidens towards their tents. Ivar watches curiously and longingly as his brothers kiss the maidens, wondering what is like to kiss a woman in such a way. When she not afraid or disgusted by the man, when she desires him, when she runs her hands along his body. He wonders if there will ever be a woman who will desire him, a woman who isn’t afraid or disgusted by him. A scoff left his lips at how soft he’s being.

Ivar looks away from the blatant display of lustful desire, heart heavy and anger festering within him. Crawling quicker towards his tent, his hands slam on the ground and bound legs dragging heavily behind him. He wonders why the Gods made him the cripple that he is. Did they see not potential in him? Was he unworthy in their eyes to be blessed with working limps? He can be an even fiercer warrior if given the chance to walk. He, himself could singlehandedly bring kingdoms to the ground, slaughter to those who oppose him, he can do that and even more. All he needs is a chance and he can fulfill his father’s promise, that world will know and fear Ivar the Boneless. The Gods only need to give him the working limbs and he will show them.

Entering his tent, Ivar is met with warmth from a fire that warms his chilled body and allows himself to drop to the ground. Face smothered in the ground, he curls his hands into fists, hating his useless body that aches as if he’s been trampled by a beast. With great effort, he shuffles to his forearms and drags himself towards the bed, the bones in his shoulders cracking and popping in the process. Resting his weight on his left arm, he reaches a shaky hand up and fists the furs that are draped over the bed.

Any and seemingly all strength has left Ivar’s body and he struggles to pull himself onto the bed. His grips slips as he’s lifting himself and he falls unceremoniously to the ground. Grinding his teeth, his nostrils flare and in a surge of anger, he practically launches himself at the bed. Gripping tightly on the furs, he shuffles his torso onto the bed and takes a moment to breathe. Closing his eyes, he focuses on his breathing then hisses when his legs begin to throb painfully. But, the throbbing is different than his usual pain yet somehow, familiar to him?

Rolling onto his back, Ivar sits up and reaches for the straps around his legs but as he’s taking them off, he notices that something is different about his legs. For it appears that his legs fill out his trousers but that’s not possible. Heart hammering in his chest, eyes curious and nervous, he rolls up the fabric covering his left leg only to gasp. Quickly, he rolls up the other and stares in disbelief at his legs. Protruding beneath his skin are the outlines of a thorn riddled vines. Those vines appear to have reinforced his bones. Giving him normal looking limbs, aside from the vines.

Tentatively, Ivar attempts to lift his right leg and lets out a breathy chuckle when he’s successful. He bites his lip as he bends his knee, watching in amazement as the limb moves in the way he wishes. He lowers that leg and proceeds to the same movements with his left leg. The Gods must have sent that painfully beautiful Goddess to give him working limbs. He is finally worthy! Wanting to test his new limbs he takes a deep breath and slowly begins to put his weight on legs. His legs wobble as he stands but supports his weight effortlessly.

Ivar bends his knees multiple times, feeling euphoric as he is finally just like any other man. There is so much he wants to do, walk, run, swim, jump, and climb. His minds spins with all the possibilities. In his excitement, he takes a step forward but the vines abruptly vanish and he’s sent plummeting to ground as his legs wither. He lands face first with such force that it knocks him breathless and he groans in pain. Slightly dazed, it takes him a moment to comprehend what happened as he rolls onto his back. However, his heart sinks when he lifts his head up and sees his withered, crippled legs have returned.

“NO!” Ivar cries out in anger, dropping his head back and slamming his fist onto the ground. Tears fill his eyes and he jerks his torso from side to side, hoping that his legs will respond to the movement but they remain unmoving. “No! No, no, no, please,” he pleads in a tearful whisper.

The Gods are certainly cruel and Ivar covers his face with his hands and sobs into them. There in the darkness behind his eyes, he sees the painfully beautiful Goddess staring at him with her piercing gaze. He gives a jolt, swiftly removing his hands from his face and shuffling into a sitting position. His breathing is heavy and eyes red from sobbing but he could care less. Staring at his legs, he wonders if perhaps, if he were to encounter the Goddess again, that maybe he could convince her to bless him with working limbs once more. He has no idea if she would ever bless him again. However, that won’t stop him, for she has the power to allow Ivar to fulfill his father’s prophecy.

But, how do you find a Goddess?


	2. What Dwells In The Forest

Ivar sits on a wooden stump in the heart of camp, ignored and forgotten by all as they go about their day. He watches those who pass him, glaring at their legs as he picks at the braces that bind his own. His mind continuously reminds him of what it felt like to bend his legs and the euphoric feeling of being able to stand without the aid of braces or the aid of another. It angered and confused him as to why the Gods gave then took that away from him. His thoughts wander to the Goddess, wondering how he is going to find her or what he needs to do for her to reappear.

His gaze shifts about the camp, eyes landing on his older brother, Sigurd, and absentmindedly his hand travels to his hatchet that is holstered to his hip. Remembering his brother’s taunts, Ivar takes the hatchet in his hand, flipping it around multiple times. The last time he raised a hatchet to his brother, the Goddess appeared and he actually debates raising it to him again. It wouldn’t be _that_ difficult, he has a _clear_ shot at Sigurd, all he has to do is toss the hatchet at him and then perhaps the Goddess will reappear.

Ivar is impulsive by nature but also calculated, weighing the possible outcomes of what could happen should he follow through with his idea. He didn’t necessarily _want_ to _kill_ Sigurd per say, despite what others think. It is no secret that the two of them don’t get along, their relationship, if it can be called that, is ruthless in its nature. Prideful yet delicate egos cause them to tear the other down by any means necessary, to the point of delving into what the other _knows_ will inflict the most pain.

The wound won’t kill Sigurd but it will feel like death, not that Ivar truly cares. His brother could, possibly, evade the hatchet if he reacts swiftly enough. The muscles in Ivar’s arm tense as he begins to raise the hatchet, with his gaze locked on his brother’s chest. Moving his arm back to get the momentum needed to launch his weapon, he prepares to toss.

“I saw the Goddess or whatever she is!” A panicked whisper says behind Ivar, causing him to halt his actions. Turning his head to the side, he finds a small group of thralls gathered together. He watches them out of his peripheral vision, slowly lowering the hatchet to his lap and intently listens to their conversation. “Don’t look at me like I’ve lost it, she’s still here!”

“You can’t be certain-”

“Yes I can! I was not into my cups as others were.”

“How do you know it was the so called Goddess?”

“She is not someone to be mistaken and far too beautiful to forget.”

“Where did you see her then?”

“At the river. I was doing the washing and when I looked up, she was standing on the opposite side staring at me…”

Ivar’s interest is peaked upon hearing the Thralls’ conversation, could they be speaking about _his_ Goddess? It’s possible that they are but it is also possible that whoever the Thrall saw at the river is not his Goddess. The possibility of being able to walk has him holstering the hatchet and shuffling off the stump. A hiss leaves his mouth when his hands come in contact with the ground as small rocks dig into his palms. Ignoring the rocks that scrape against his hands, he hurriedly crawls towards the north side of camp where his chariot awaits him.

Sigurd’s attention shifts to his little brother as he catches Ivar heaving himself onto his chariot. He seems determined to be somewhere and snaps at everyone around him as they hitch his horse to the chariot. The second the horse is attached, Ivar commands the horse go and it obeys, nearly trampling multiple people in the process. Sigurd would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t at least _a tad bit_ curious as to where Ivar is heading but his curiosity is outweighed by the shield maiden whom he is taking to. Casting a final yet annoyed glance to his disappearing brother, Sigurd turns his attention back to the shield maiden with a flirtatious smile.

Something is different about the woods today, as there is a sense of a presence that weighs heavy in the atmosphere. The trees sway in the gentle breeze while beams of light shimmer through their leaves. The light dances across the ground, creating a trail further into the woods, and seems to beckon Ivar to it, curiously but cautiously he guides his horse to follow. The path twist and turns, taking him further into the woods then he’s ever gone before. With every step his horse makes the curiosity grows as the beams of light become brighter.

A white light blinds Ivar upon turning into a clearing and he shields his eyes with his right arm. His horse neighs and bucks wildly, frightened by the fact that is unable to see. The chariot flings Ivar around, his upper body swaying and he losses the grip of the reins as the go sailing into the air. He lunges forward, arms darting out frantically in attempts to grab the reins before they fall to the ground. Stretching his arms out as far as physically possible from his position and reaching blindly, he just barley grasps the reins.

The horse ceases bucking but it fidgets while breathing erratically as if it’s not sure if it should flee or not. Ivar sighs in relief as he no longer is being flung about and slowly shifts his gaze ahead. Standing a few feet ahead of him, shimmering in the evening sunlight is his painfully beautiful Goddess. She stares expectantly at him, her hair and dress sway softly around her but there is no breeze. Overcome by her presence, Ivar says the first thing on his mind. “Make me walk!”

The Goddess’ eyes narrow in unimpressed annoyance. “Aren’t you demanding for a _puny_ being,” she says and Ivar shivers as he’s never heard a voice as _sultry_ as hers. Without another word, she turns and begins to walk away, ignoring Ivar as he _demands_ she stay.

Ivar ushers his horse forward but it refuses to move, merely huffing and stomping its feet. Slight panic sets in for Ivar as he watches his Goddess walk away from him. He tries frantically to get the horse to move, knowing that he has a better chance at stopping or catching her if he’s in his chariot. But, alas the horse will not move and reluctantly Ivar shuffles his way out of the chariot. He grits his teeth in efforts to conceal his discomfort when his body collides with the ground. Refusing to show any sort of “ _weakness_ ” in the presence of his Goddess.

The Goddess stops walking upon hearing shuffling from behind her and looks over her shoulder. Mildly surprised to find the chariot vacant of its rider and her gaze drifts to the ground, eyebrows rising briefly upon finding Ivar. She watches him with minor interest as he crawls towards her, observing the way his bound legs drag on the ground behind him before looking ahead and walking once more. A soft, barely audible groan from Ivar is heard and she smirks briefly with the knowledge that he is following her and quickens her pace.

Ivar wants to ask where they or rather where _she_ is going but decides against it. He follows her blindly and feels a tad crazy for doing so, for he knows nothing about her. She could leading him to his death for all he knew but he rationalizes that if she truly wants him dead, she would have done so by now. There is no doubt in his mind that his Goddess could kill him and that excites him in a way.

As time passes, Ivar wonders if his Goddess knows _where_ she’s going, for she’s simply walking straight and has been for the past two nearly three _hours_. She hasn’t spoken a word to him and when he gets close to her, she quickens her pace which forces him to crawl faster in hopes of catching up to her. Once she is a decent distance away from him, she slows her pace to a causal stroll. Never once sparing him even the _tiniest_ of glances, keeping her back to him and her gaze ahead. Which both annoys and amuses Ivar for he begins to feel that perhaps she is _toying_ with him or _challenging_ him.

She abruptly turns to the right and hurriedly he crawls after her, grunting as he climbs over exposed tree roots. She slows her pace but _just_ as he crawls up to her, she swiftly walks ahead and turns left. He rolls his eyes but follows after her, turning in the direction she went only to catch a glimpse of her starlight hair as she turns to left. There is absolutely no way that he’s letting her get away and he pushes himself to crawl as fast as physically possible.

The constant increasing and decreasing of speed begins to take a toll on his body, his bones scream in agony as he moves along the earth. Fingers and palms sinking heavily into the damped dirt and he struggles to propel himself forward. He turns in the direction his Goddess went and groans upon seeing more tree roots protruding from the ground, though these are larger than the ones before and will be challenging to _crawl_ over. Rolling his jaw, he heaves himself over the first one, yanking harshly on the binds of his legs as they catch on the bark.

His muscles stiffen in protest with every root he crawls over, shoulders gradually slumping under the effort. Half-way over the last root, he allows himself a brief of moment to catch his breath. But, breathing is difficult for his lungs feel tight, and his entire body is weighed down seemingly by the very air of the forest itself. Hanging his head, he briefly closes his eyes and a fresh cooling scent invades his senses. A scent commonly referred to as mint, though he’s only ever recall smelling this particular scent of mint once before. It was when his Goddess first appeared to him, though before it was a _faint_ scent among the smell of a victorious battle. And now, the scent is strong but not overpowering, as it slowly surrounds him.

Lifting his head, Ivar’s eyes widen as his Goddess is kneeling in front of him and her face is a mere breath away from his. His eyes dance around her face, committing her features to memory and by the Gods, she’s a harmless beauty whose beauty is far _beyond_ words. Her flawless face and smooth skin give him the urge to caress her face. Her eyes are wide with curiosity as she gazes into his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment before her gaze drifts about his face as if she’s searching for something. “You are very persistent.”

In a sort of daze Ivar’s mind struggles to comprehend words as he gazes into her eyes. “ _Goddess_ ,” he whispers and is brought out of his daze when she lets out a breathy giggle that softly echoes around them. She rises to her feet and walks backward while maintaining eye contact with him. Ivar attempts to shuffle forwards but his aching body refuses to move and he huffs in annoyance. He remains, half way on a tree root while staring at his Goddess. “What’s your name?”

She appears slightly taken aback by his question. “My name?” She hums in amusement. “It’s been long since someone’s asked me that. If you truly wish to know, Ivar, return tomorrow.” She turns around and a blinding white light appears in front of her.

Ivar holds a hand out in front of his eyes in efforts to shield them from the light. “Wait! How do I –” he grunts as he’s flung into the air and then before he can react, he’s colliding harshly with the earth. “-find you?” he wheezes.  Lifting his head, he realizes that he’s lying on his stomach next to his chariot. Well, at least he didn’t have to _crawl_ all the way back here.

The Goddess stands a few steps away from Ivar, her left arm wrapped around her torso while her right elbow rests on that arm. She picks at her nails, despite the fact that they are completely clean and periodically glances down at Ivar. Her brow arches when he loudly groans before he begins to drag himself towards his chariot. With her eyes never leaving Ivar as he heaves himself up onto the chariot, she lowers her arms to her side and calmly circles the chariot.

The cooling sent of mint drifts around Ivar and he turns his head in every direction, expecting to find his Goddess but she’s nowhere to be seen. The scent isn’t a common one around these parts, so he figures that maybe she is near to his current location. But, unbeknownst to Ivar, his Goddess is in fact nearer than he believes her to be, as she directly in front of him, he just can’t see her. After taking a final glance around, Ivar pulls himself onto the seat of his chariot, hauling his legs in front of him and takes the reins. Guiding his horse to turn around, he commands it to return to camp and the animal is more than eager to obey its master.

“ _Puny being_ ,” says The Goddess, watching Ivar’s disappearing figure with narrowed eyes. “But oddly intriguing.”

 “I do hope you know what you are doing,” a voice that is nothing more than a faint whisper in the wind says.

The Goddess lifts her chin, her lips spreading into a sly smile. “I know _exactly_ what I’m doing,” she glances to her right and stares into a pair glowing eyes in shadows. “Now, be gone.” She waves her hand dismissively at the eyes and they fade into the darkness. With the watchful eyes no longer on her, she turns her attention back to the direction Ivar went. She’s given an incentive for him to return, not a large one but by the way he looks her, she _knows_ that he will return. After all, she is a _Goddess_. The ground beneath her feet begins to tremble and trees sway as her laughter fills the air. In the blink of an eye, she vanishes and the once restless forest calms with her departure.

The following day, Ivar is eager to return to the forest, waking when the sun begins to rise and eagerly crawls out his tent. Thralls are surprised to see the youngest prince awake since he’s usually the last to awaken. Though, they do not dare question him and simply scurry out of his way but they do watch him with curious gazes as he heads for his chariot. A few thralls swiftly hitch his horse to the chariot without being asked and depart the area just as swiftly. No words are spoken by the prince when he reaches his chariot and after hauling himself onto it, he heads towards the forest.

The Goddess wanders the forest aimlessly with an annoyed frown at how mundane this world is and yet, something about it calls her. It’s unexplainable as to _what_ calls to her but that’s what makes things exciting. Her steps cease and she turns her head to the side while closing her eyes. Her mind focuses on the approaching sound as her vision speeds through the forest before a smirk slowly creeps its way onto her face. It would seem that the puny being has returned, which doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. “Time to play…” she whispers then vanishes with nothing a soft puff of smoke lingering in the wind to show that she was there.

Soaring through the forest air, The Goddess heads for the direction of the puny being. The forest bends and twists to her desire as she soars through it. Though, the animals that inhabit the forest remain unaware of her as she remains hidden from their sight. Birds fly right past her and she rolls her eyes, as their feathers brush against her face. “Insolent creatures,” she hisses with a shake of her head. Seeing the puny being ahead, she ceases her movement before gracefully floating down.

“ _Ivar…_ ”

Hearing his name being whispered causes Ivar to guide his horse to a halt. The scent of mint drifts around him and he freezes in place as his eyes scan the forest for his Goddess.

“ _Ivar…_ ”

He whips his head to the right, expecting to see his Goddess but she is not there.

“ _So perceptive_ …” the voice teasingly whispers again into his left ear and Ivar glances to his left. “Over here,” it whispers to his right but when he glances that way, she is not there. “Behind you.”

Ivar doesn’t turn around right away but his entire body goes ridged upon feeling a warm body press against his back. It’s undoubtedly a woman’s body as he can feel the curves of her breasts against him and his breath hitches. A hand curves its way onto his left shoulder and fingers come to rest against his pulse point. “Turn around…” the voice whispers and lips brush against his neck.

Something comes over Ivar, rendering him motionless as his eyelids flutter before closing. He’s at the mercy of, whom he can only assume is his Goddess as she has her way with him. Which, isn’t entirely unpleasant. His head lulls to the side at the sensation of her lips gently caressing his neck. He grips the reigns tighter as her lips travel towards his chin, her warm breath against his chilled flesh sending a thrilling chill down his spine.

“And the puny being returns,” muses the Goddess and Ivar’s eyes snap open in surprise. She stands before him in his chariot, right between the reigns of his horse. Though, Ivar swears she was just behind him, kissing his neck. However, staring at her now he isn’t certain that even happened. Her head tilts subtly from side to side as she stares at him with a piercing gaze, and a teasing smirk on her face.

“I did,” he says, regaining his composure. “Tell me your name.”

“Again with the demands. Tell me, why should I tell you my name?”

“You said, you would tell me your name _if_ I returned, which I have.”

“I said _if you truly_ wish to know, then return. I never said I _would_ tell you,” she laughs.

Her taunting laugher strikes a nerve in Ivar, causing him to fight the urge to snap. Not willing to risk having his Goddess leave, he maintains his composure to the best of his abilities.

“What makes you think that you _worthy_ enough to know a _Goddess’s_ name?”

Ivar’s mouth twists into a lopsided grin with a dark look in his eyes. Leaning forward, he rests his bodyweight on the seat in front of him. “I must be worthy, you’re speaking to me.”

The Goddess’s eyes flutter as she leans backwards slightly with a hum before scoffing. “Aren’t you _presumptuous_ for a puny being?”

“You are speaking to me, are you not?”

She leans towards Ivar and whispers. “Not anymore.”

Ivar blinks and his Goddess vanishes into thin air. Mentally he curses himself as he looks around for her and finds her to his right, walking away from him. He ushers his horse to follow but his horse remains unmoving and he swears it’s as if his horse is frozen in place.

"Aveena," she says, glancing over her shoulder.

"Aveena?" Ivar echoes, the look of surprised confusion on his face.

"Yes?" she says, turning to face him.

"That is your name?"

She rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Yes."

Ivar can’t help but grin. "I'm worthy to know?"

Aveena shakes her head. "No." Turning she walks away from him. "But, you amused me."

"I see," he muses with a smirk that fades upon realizing that his Goddess, Aveena, is leaving him. “Why are you leaving?”

“Am I?”

“You are…”

Winds blows through the forest and Aveena ceases walking, her gaze drifts upwards towards the sky before turning to face Ivar. “Are you certain that I’m leaving?”

“You’re walking away.”

“But, Ivar, how can I leave when I’m not really here?” she teases

Ivar opens his mouth to reply but Aveena vanishes. “Or am I?” she whispers into his left ear and Ivar just about jumps out of skin. She disappears while laughing only to reappear in front of his chariot and he glares at her while thinking. He finally got her name but only because he _amused_ her, interesting. “What do you want?” she inquires, folding her arms across her chest.

Nerves that Ivar didn’t know he had, begin to bubble within him and he gulps in efforts to remain calm. Now is not the time to be nervous or back down. Here is a chance to change his fate and it all rests upon Aveena. “I want to walk,” he confidently says, holding his head high. 

“Why?”

The certainly wasn’t the response that he had expected and it threw him for moment. “What?”

“Puny and hard of hearing,” she mutters to herself. “Why do you want to walk? You’re more than capable of getting around. You crawled around for hours the day prior to this and you have this-” she gestures briefly to his chariot and horse. “- cart and creature to haul you about.”

“That’s not the point,” he seethes through gritted teeth and his nostrils flare.

“Then, _why_ do you want to walk?” Aveena asks, utterly calm yet her eyes narrow slightly in annoyance. She watches Ivar closely while waiting for a response but it seems the puny being has lost his nerve. It mattered not to her if he doesn’t answer but he won’t be granted his request until he does. “Do you believe yourself worthy to walk?”

That got Ivar’s attention as well as his anger since his eyes narrow, nostrils flare while his jaw clenches. “Yes!”

Aveena bits her bottom lip to prevent herself from smiling though her teasing gaze is unmistakable and Ivar’s anger morphs into intrigued confusion. “Prove you’re worthy.”

“How?”

“That is for you to prove and me to judge.”

Truth be told, Aveena knows _exactly_ what Ivar needs to do in order to prove his worth. And it isn’t even that difficult of a task to achieve. But, she isn’t going to tell him or give hints of any kind as what that is. As it is far more entertaining watching the puny being squirm with impatience and confusion. Though, she truly didn’t wish to be standing in the forest all day while he figures it out. For she doesn’t know who could be watching them.

“Do you want me to kill something for you?” asks Ivar, wondering if perhaps making a sacrificial offering to her will appease her. For that he can most certainly do and would take great pride in. 

Aveena scoffs with a slight shake of her head, her gaze shifting to the floor while lips turn upwards in mild amusement. The puny being is proving to be far more amusing than she thought possible. Composing herself, she looks to Ivar once more, who is staring at her with hopeful curiosity. “No.”

Ivar’s disappointment is nearly comical as he slumps in his chair while throwing his head back with a groan. By the Gods, why can’t his Goddess just tell him what to do? He’ll do whatever she asks if it means he can walk like any other man. The sound of leaves shuffling causes him to snap his head upright and look ahead, finding Aveena walking away from him.

“Return tomorrow, prove your worth,” Aveena’s voice echoes around the forest, drifting around Ivar and causing him to shiver. “And don’t be late, Ivar,” she glances over her shoulder and disappears into thin air...


End file.
